


Desecration

by Deos



Category: BNA: Brand New Animal (Anime)
Genre: Boris is a creep, F/M, Fucked Up, Hemipenis, Illicit Fantasies, Schrödinger's Dove: Eat At Your Own Risk, Technically underage but nothing actually happens, noncon, read the tags, snake dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25392079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deos/pseuds/Deos
Summary: Boris watched the young idol play on her phone, guiding her through the encampment toward her tent. Another successful sermon; the Church of the Silver Wolf was growing even faster than he'd hoped. All because of him, and his vision. All because ofher.Before she disappeared into her tent, he couldn't resist another taste. She turned her head just as he flicked his tongue, and caught him right in the act. Her muzzle twisted in distaste."Do you have to do that when I'mright here,Boris?"He bowed his head, apologetic. "Again, my apologies. It's… instinctual."She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."Or:Boris is a mega creep.
Relationships: Hiwatashi Nazuna & Boris Cliff
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16
Collections: Prose From the Abyss





	Desecration

**Author's Note:**

> Saw the anime, saw Boris, knew it had to be done.

_“And she was mine, she was mine, the key was in my fist, my fist was in my pocket, she was mine.”_   
_― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita_

“Be the best beastman you can be!” 

Boris held his hands out, and Déesse stepped out from behind his pulpit. Her fingers went to the button on her cloak, unfastening it, letting it float to the ground as she flared into brilliance.

The shining shape of Silver Wolf stood before him, huge, glowing like the moon. Déesse raised her head to the sky and howled, a vacillating, victorious peal that raised the hairs on the back of Boris’s neck. 

Her cry was taken up by the crowd, who raised their hands, transported. Screams of delight, tears, the liquid gleam of hope – he could see every emotion reflected on those faces, and it roared through him, filling him more thoroughly than any meal ever could. He was an empty vessel of the Church, and tonight, he runneth over.

Déesse shrank back to her pale, humanoid form, bowing before the crowd in nothing but her fur. 

“Be the best beastman you can be.” She echoed Boris, her voice quietly radiant. The crowd returned the sentiment with a fervent sigh. 

Sermon finished, Boris picked up Déesse’s cloak and handed it to her. She slipped it on, foregoing the hood in the heat of the evening, and turned away from the crowd, which was still buzzing excitedly. There was a good mood on the air tonight; he had a feeling that they’d soon have many new members.

Déesse pulled out her phone as soon as they were out of eyesight, tapping idly at the screen. Boris flicked his tongue out, tasting the air behind her right ear. _Too close_. One fork of his tongue tickled the fur there.

Said ear flicked. Déesse turned towards him, irritable. "What was that?" 

His tongue was already back in his mouth. He inclined his head. "Just a fly, Déesse. My apologies, I was negligent in swatting them."

"Oh." 

Completely disinterested, she turned away from him, back to her phone. He flicked his tongue out again, more cautiously this time, stirring the air just behind her neck.

There she was; sweet, creamy, the taste of her thick in his mouth.

 _Delicious_. 

Boris watched the young idol play on her phone, guiding her through the encampment toward her tent. Another successful sermon; the Church of the Silver Wolf was growing even faster than he'd hoped. All because of him, and his vision. All because of _her_.

Before she disappeared into her tent, he couldn't resist another taste. She turned her head just as he flicked his tongue, and caught him right in the act. Her muzzle twisted in distaste.

"Do you have to do that when I'm _right here,_ Boris?"

He bowed his head, apologetic. "Again, my apologies. It's… instinctual."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

Boris smiled, prickling all over. "Good night, Déesse."

Her tail swished, the only indication that she'd heard him before the canvas was buttoned closed. 

He went back to his own tent, forcing a sedate stroll even though everything in him was writhing. His hands were shaking as he fastened the tent flaps, and it took him two tries to get the security hooks in place. It wouldn't do to have anyone burst in here now.

His robe puddled on the floor. Boris shed his human skin like water, shifting back into his scales with a relieved sigh, and stripped the silver mask from his snout. 

The taste of her was fading. Such a shame. He held his tongue in, rolling the last traces of her chemicals through his mouth and into his blood. _Sweet. Creamy._ Her flavor burst through him, as ripe and fresh as a peach, the taste of youth and innocence and possibilities... 

Did all of her taste so?

Boris groaned as his cloaca parted, the blunt twin heads of his hemipenes swelling from the opening. He touched them gently, almost fearfully, imagining how Déesse would react if she saw them. Many beastmen screamed, unused to reptilian parts. Some fled. Others were intrigued. He had never shown himself to anyone, but he wanted to show _her._

It was possible. He could sneak out in the dead of the night, slip right into her tent with no one any the wiser. She never buttoned the flaps all the way, and he could be very, _very_ quiet. 

He slid his brille over his eyes, clouding the rest of the world out. _Yes_. She would be alone when he came. She was always alone. Always under a mound of blankets, curled in on herself like a shrimp. She slept very heavily. He knew, because it was, occasionally, his pleasure to wake her in the mornings, and she had never stirred at his light, exploratory touches. Not at his hand on her shoulder. Not at his nails on her cheek. Not even his fingertips tracing the velvety shell of her ear was enough to wake her from her slumber, even when the flesh there shivered in reaction.

He would take the place of those blankets, coiled around her, soaking up the warmth of her fur. There would be _so much_ of it; she slept in a tank top and silk shorts most nights, the cloth riding up, baring the underswell of pert breasts. She would be soft against his scales, too slow and muzzy-headed from sleep to scream. 

Boris ran his hands over his cocks, shuddering at the sensation. He could shove both of them into her. Stuff one in her pussy, the other between her thighs, or in the wet warmth of her ass – but he wouldn’t. He was big, far too big for her, and his spines would tear her apart. That wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was _Déesse Louve_ , whole and unblemished and _perfect_. 

He wanted to touch her, to rub his scales across her skin. To feed on that warmth, to bask in it like his ancestors had the sun, gaining energy from her very existence. But most of all he wanted to _taste_. 

Her lips. Her throat. He wanted to run his tongue across her belly, the spot where the fur was thinnest. To bury his snout between her legs and drink from the very center of her-

“ _Ah…”_

Boris hissed at the pleasure that flashed up from the thought. He slid his brille back and realized that he had coiled in on himself, wrapping his cocks in a wall of scales. He squeezed down, and the pleasure came again, as hot and unbidden as those saucy little smirks Déesse sometimes threw his way.

The sound of spines against scales was soft and eerie, a faint rustle like claws against tile. He didn’t care. Boris fucked himself slowly, so immersed in his fantasy that he didn’t need his brille anymore.

How nice it would be, to get her alone somewhere. Some distant place, where he wouldn’t have to muffle her; then she could scream all she wanted. And she _would_ scream. He was very talented with his tongue. 

First he would tease her, tracing her inner thighs. An appetizer. He would touch her everywhere but where she really wanted – a taste of the torture he had suffered – until she was wet and dripping, and the humid flavor of her was so thick that he didn’t need his tongue to taste it. 

Then, he would give it to her. He would press both forks against her wet heat, licking and licking until he felt her cum, until her thighs were crushed against his jaws.

Boris moaned again, working himself faster. 

She would be so tight. So _young_. So confused, his Déesse. No one would have touched her like that, and he would be the first. He would teach her. He would _protect_ her. This would be all he allowed himself, the tasting, because he wanted to keep her like this forever, whole and virginal. And maybe someday _she_ would come to _him_ , snare him about the nape with her legs and force him to lick her-

With a low cry he came, spilling himself between his coils. He worked himself through it and beyond, pushing the edge of pain before collapsing, exhausted.

Now spent, he felt sanity returning. He slid upright, wincing at the gummy feeling as his soiled hemipenes retracted, and rolled himself against the grass, rubbing away the evidence of his transgression.

Shifting back into human form, he knelt next to his bedroll, scale-less, wretched, and trembling. 

Now came the guilt. 

It rose like bile, sharp and bitter. The remaining sparks of heat sputtered out, and he twisted his hands into his hair, tugging hard enough that his scalp screamed.

_What was he doing?_

He knew perfectly well what he was doing. But for the life of him, he couldn't figure out _why._ And what was worse, he knew he’d do it again. 

There was just something about her, this human-turned-beastman, this Nazuna. She was a wretched, spoiled brat. Shallow and vain. A right pain she had been, resisting his guidance every step of the way. He didn’t like Nazuna Hiwatachi, not in the slightest.

But _Déesse Louve…_

When she was Déesse Louve, she was perfect. She was _divine._ And it wasn't just an act, he had tasted her in that form, felt the light and energy sparking against his tongue, electric.

The memory raised goosebumps on his skin, a sensation that skittered all the way down to the scales beneath.

"Be the best beastman you can be," he muttered, folding his hands in supplication.

He _was_. He hadn't touched her. Hadn't hurt her. There was nothing for him but this harmless fantasy. 

But deep down, something stirred and yawned, endlessly hungry. Endlessly patient.

Boris bent forward until his forehead touched the ground, hands still held aloft. He prayed.

" _Be the best beastman you can be."_

**Author's Note:**

> ...
> 
> Yep! Thanks for reading! ~~Tell me how it made you feel~~


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